Tuesday, July 29, 2014

The Graceful Truth: Part 1



                I feel like I am at a Funeral. I know that I’m not, but there are too many similarities to discount the thought and remove it from the emotional side of my brain. The guest surrounding me in the small chapel are wearing their best attire, some are slightly moth eaten, some ill-fitting or just dusted with the dew of oldness. It wasn’t hard to imagine they pulled it out of the back of their closet’s that morning and sighed with slight frustration at not having tried on their go to outfit the day before.  There was an absence of the obvious black; instead there were purples, blues, and yellows melding together in a mesh pot of puking rainbows. I wore a silky emerald dress though I seriously considered the black. I should have worn the black.
Despite the uplifting cadence of music, the flowers pulled the scene back into a morbid affair.  Plumes of white and dainty yellow carcasses filled the enclosed space with overwhelming bitterness. I overheard it called romantic, but I saw nothing romantic about over 1,000 blooming plants that would be either tossed out or dead within the next few days.The ones closest to my seat were already browning at the edges, it wasn't a good sign and don't care that I don't believe in superstitions today it's all I had to cling on to.
I know I seem overly morbid about the event but truly I felt like my insides were slowly melting into a mush of angst and despair. It was becoming more difficult every second to breathe, more difficult to keep the solid oatmeal and strawberries I shoved down my throat that morning from making a reappearance all over the freshly polished floors.  Let it be known that for the most part I hate weddings, and for the remaining issues I have, I didn’t want to come to this wedding.
Lilting music shifted into a matrimonial death march as I saw the first sprightly youngin’ dance down the aisle tossing tiny handfuls of white petals into the air. Her joy disgusted me, which then caused my actions to also disgust me. I was shooting resting bitch face at a seven year old girl, it was beyond inappropriate. It almost felt impossible to stop myself , my heart felt like it was dying on the inside. I could feel the sharpened edge of realities knife slicing off a piece of my heart and I knew by the end of the night there would be nothing left.
Smiling faces whispered back and forth cooing annoyingly at the little girl bouncing toward the front aisle, toward him. As the audience of puking colors stood and stared up the aisle toward the entrance, my gaze slipped down the aisle.
He wasn’t looking at me obviously, and it felt strangely devious to be watching him when no one else was. His suit was a sharp charcoal grey with a black shirt and silky grey tie. A white rose clipped onto his jacket clashed with the vibrant blue linen peeking out from the chest pocket. His dark brown eyes were alight with excitement; I could see the happiness of this day seeping from every pore on his body. His hair though immaculately placed, still had a touch of rugged the way I always preferred. In a simplistic way, he looked absolutely perfect. Inwardly I sighed with loving satisfaction, outwardly I scowled.
Several other couples slipped down the aisle to the cadence of oooh’s and aaahhhh’s but the moment of anticipation had come. I saw it written all over his handsome face as soon as she appeared. The hall hushed and the music shifted once again. She walked down the polished wooden floor like a beauty queen, her bright blonde hair falling in cascading waves. Her makeup was impeccable, her smile was perfect, every bit of it made me want to puke. I didn’t want to hate her, at one time I really did love her, but the bile at the back of my throat disagreed. Watching her glide down the aisle like an angel reincarnate; I hated her, every bit of her happiness, and every bit of her perfect beautiful future.
 I wanted her to suffer like me, suffer the way I had since the day so long ago when I ruined absolutely everything.